


Someone To Trust

by Q_C



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Responsibility, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 20:33:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6129184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Q_C/pseuds/Q_C
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of vignettes charting the progress of Clarke and Lexa's relationship not shown on screen.  Major themes include Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Angst and Romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someone To Trust

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all. This is my first story for The 100 and I'm having a blast watching the latest season. I'm unabashed Clexa trash and the purpose of this story is to pad out the progress of Clarke and Lexa's relationship, showing scenes that develop their intimacy that are not featured on the show. I'm a huge fan of slow burn but for the absense of any doubt, I do plan on sinning my little heart out and writing some explicit encounters for them in this story.
> 
> This first chapter takes place pre-kiss, pre-betrayal and you can find Trigedasleng translations at the bottom of this chapter.
> 
> Hope you enjoy and please feel free to leave a comment letting me know what you think!

**Chapter 1: Polaris**

 

Nightfall in the forest. Dark, beautiful. It brought with it the strangest of stirrings in her heart: wonder, fear...a distant sense of loss. The surrounding Fir trees loomed high above her, long having lost their luscious green colour to the hungry shadows around; passing underneath them on horseback, the Skaikru leader marvelled at their menace and could not help but feel so small and insignificant underneath their wary watch. Those feelings only added to her inner anxiety that had slowly been building over the last few days. Her people would not be safe in The Mountain for long, especially following her and Anya's escape. Time was slipping away for them and everything hinged on the plan that she herself had devised. Clarke could not let Bellamy shoulder the responsibility alone for this one – it was all on her. Her cross to bear.

Just like this truce, born in blood such as it was. Blood on her hands was fast becoming an uncomfortable recurrence and it was something her conscience was not ready to accept. _What you did will haunt you until the end of your days._ She glanced askance at the Heda, sat proudly atop her horse alongside her. How right the commander had been that night; Clarke might have managed to banish Finn's ghost from her mind, but the sinking guilt in the pit of her stomach never left her. For several days now, her shoulders had sagged under the weight of her responsibility and the pressure to disguise it all; this act of appearing strong and capable only enhanced the feelings of helplessness stirring deep inside and she was finding herself increasingly aware of how her shattered self esteem might be manifesting in how she held herself. That wasn't something she could let the Grounders see, especially so early on into their uneasy alliance.

She had felt Lexa's eyes wander to her more times than she could count over the last few hours; she was clearly curious about her condition, if not quietly concerned. The Grounder leader was ruthless, it was true, but she was also a fiercely intelligent strategist. She could ill afford her fledgling alliance with Skaikru to be fractured by weak leadership and Clarke knew it all too well. There were already too many threats to the peace they sought for Heda to allow that. She supposed that's why it was Lexa who first chose to break the silence between them and make an observation she had long been dreading.

“You seem pensive, Clarke. Thinking about your people?”

And there it was, the stab of guilt she felt whenever their faces crept into her head. She had already seen first-hand the barbaric nature of experiments the Mountain Men were conducting on the Grounders: draining their blood for medicine, turning them into rabid slaves. _And we called Trikru savages._ What would they do to the Sky People, whose blood and marrow offered even more promise to The Mountain's population? The thought didn't even bear thinking about and the disgust showed on her face.

“Thinking about how I shouldn't have left them there to suffer,” Clarke replied bitterly, looking away to hide the emotion in her eyes. That would surely appear weak to a Grounder, who respected strength above all else. Frailties... not so much.

Lexa appeared to consider the comment for a moment before replying. “You had no choice, Clarke. If you hadn't taken the opportunity to escape, we would never have learnt of the fate of our people, or found a common goal to unite us. You punish yourself for nothing. It's a waste of energy.”

Clarke scoffed quietly at that, almost incredulous at the Grounder's apparent lack of humanity. Lexa's people were inside that farm as well, wasting away daily and in pain. She had seen the flicker of remorse in her eyes when she relayed the news of Anya's death and yet, here she was, acting as though it was foolish to feel guilt over the result of something she had had a part to play in. That knot of irritation burst in her chest and soon had her spitting a heated reply.

“I suppose it's easier to do that...excuse yourself of blame; tell yourself it's not your fault, you can't save everyone. Maybe that's your way – what you're used to down here. Maybe it's even the smart thing to do. But where I come from, you pay for your mistakes and you don't shy away from it. Good intentions be damned...” Her brow furrowed slightly as her thoughts turned to her father and his purported 'crimes'. The ones that got him floated. “I should be the one in there dying a slow death, not them. You'll never convince me otherwise either, so just drop it.”

Moments passed as they travelled in silence, with only the crisp clip-clop of their horses' hooves singing between them. Clarke was beginning to wonder if the commander had merely ignored her impromptu tirade when she heard her heave a heavy sigh and tightly rein in her steed, causing it to whinny and huff as it came to an abrupt stop. The Skaikru leader quickly followed suit, staring at her companion full of anxiousness in the wake of their exchange. She already knew she should not be showing such vulnerability to the Heda – such weakness and disrespect could get her killed. She had not only laid her insecurities bare to a woman whom she knew had little patience for them but had more or less challenged the leader's sense of responsibility and honour. Had she lost her fucking mind?

“Hod op.” Lexa threw the command over her shoulder to her sentry guards who halted immediately, reaching for their closest weapons should a skirmish be close at hand. Bringing her horse around to face them, she afforded Clarke the briefest of glances before returning her attention to the infantry. “Kamp raun hir kom emo gapa en ste ai op,” she ordered, receiving an obedient chorus of “sha, Heda” in return. Two of the sentries then approached them, taking hold of the horses' reins as Lexa met Clarke's puzzled look. “Leave your horse here. Follow me.”

Clarke watched Lexa dismount and exchange a few quarrelsome words in Trigedasleng with Indra, whose hateful glare settled on Clarke as she made to climb down from her horse. Clarke thought better of holding her stare, sensing the warrior's disapproval. She understood that rage, the sick desire to exact revenge that fuelled Indra's prejudice towards her kind. The most ironic discovery of the the last few weeks for her had been that her so-called civilised people had had to return to the Earth – to the dirt – to learn what it was to be _human_ ; to appreciate that an execution meant more than an extra three hours of oxygen for the population; that the loss of life no longer held that same silver lining. Skaikru were sunk well and truly in at the deep end, and they all were learning fast, exposed to the harsh reality that life on the Ark was but a shadow of their race's legacy – its capacity to create – and to destroy.

“Clarke!” Lexa called, breaking her reverie with a gesture for her to follow. She nodded at the commander and began to make after her, trying desperately to ignore the Grounders' loaded stares and unfriendly mutterings that trailed after her in the dark.

 

***

 

“So, you wanna tell me where we're going?” Clarke's question was strained, punctuated by laboured breath as she struggled to follow in the footsteps of her guide. The ground here was so uneven, wild and unpredictable, yet Lexa all but glided over every obstacle in her path, seemingly aware of the position of every root and boulder that lay before her, even in this darkness. She only occasionally had reason to pause, drawing her blade in a swift and lethal arc to sever the thick vegetation impeding her progress. She stamped the branches into the ground as she pressed on, casting cursory glances every so often at Clarke to ensure she was still in close pursuit.

“Keep up. We're nearly there.” That was all the commander offered before she sheathed her sword with a sharp scrape and once more sallied forth, moving like a shadow across the land, smooth and swift. Clarke frowned at the unhelpful update, frustrated to be kept so in the dark about their destination, but with exhaustion setting in, did not offer any argument and simply huffed, reluctantly picking up her pace.

It was another few minutes before Lexa finally slowed to a stop, waiting for Clarke to join her. Heda wasn't quite as short-winded as she was when she caught up and the steady pattern of her breaths were released in a ghostly mist, alerting Clarke to the biting chill in the night air. Only once she had straightened herself to regard Lexa did she notice, fearfully, the unnerving look of intensity in the commander's eyes. They burned with something other than anger, though something equally as dangerous; being unsure of how to proceed, Clarke just stood there frozen, subtly feeling for her gun and swallowing an audible gulp.

Readying herself for the worst, that surge of adrenaline coursing in her veins dissipated almost as quickly as it had arrived, watching as the sharpness of Lexa's expression softened and relaxed. Clarke was quickly convincing herself that she must be seeing things when she noticed too the faintest hint of a smile flicker across her lips, right before her companion made to pull back the low-hanging branches behind her and nod in that direction. “We can talk here.”

_“We can talk here”?_ Clarke turned the phrase over in her mind as she struggled past Lexa's lithe form arching over her, still holding the way open. Hadn't they been talking before? Wasn't that the whole reason they were on this spontaneous, little field trip? Because Lexa had grown tired of her pitiful wallowing and wanted to tire her out to shut her up. Why would they need to come this far out to talk unless–

Clarke stopped in her tracks as the realisation dawned on her. What _“We can talk here”_ really meant was _“_ I _can talk here.”_ Heda was not just a leader to a people; she had to embody the very ideals that Grounders stood by – a living legacy. She could not be seen to pander or coddle another, especially not one of her own kind. It would lose her respect. Obedience. Clarke's methods of leadership were entirely dissimilar, but that didn't mean she couldn't see the merits in Lexa's ways. They had developed in a much harsher environment, after all, but in one that made her choices make sense.

The crunch of gravel alerted her to Lexa's approach, and the fact they were now out of the clearing, lake-side, standing by the water that shimmered black in the moonless night. Several questions ran through her head as the commander joined her, not least, “What is this place?”

Clarke looked up at Lexa, whose watchful eyes scanned the perimeter of the lake and tree-line as if to ensure that they were indeed alone. Seemingly satisfied, she shifted her regard to Clarke, letting it remain there while she spoke earnestly, putting her companion's mind at ease. “I thought you could use some privacy. It can't be easy travelling with my people while your conscience is overburdened.” Heda paused for a moment, presumably to let that sentiment sink in. “You're safe here. We can stay as long as you need.”

Clarke didn't say anything right away. Her mind was a mess of conflicting emotions: grateful for the commander's attentiveness to her well-being yet mildly offended by her assumption that she needed some time to 'pull herself together'. The Skaikru leader was not being proud...she just... did not want to be judged on her weakest state. Before Clarke could summon a reply, Lexa continued, now looking out over the expanse of water.

“When I was still a child, I would hunt in these woods,” she said, dipping her head towards the surrounding trees that lined the lake. In Clarke's periphery vision she noticed the commander's eyes face forward as she spoke, though only briefly as they returned their attention to her shortly thereafter. “It is dangerous to track alone, but more is expected of our _Nightbloods_ – the future Heda. Fear is an enemy we are taught to conquer at a very young age.” Lexa paused for a moment before adding, almost cautiously, “Especially the fear of loss.”

At this, Clarke glanced at her companion, meeting that dark expression with one of sincere interest. She hated herself for revering that stoicism Lexa appeared to bear for her own greatest weakness; that solid composure that was present in only the most carefree of souls. Heda suffered a similar position to herself, like life events, and yet she stood strong, proud – unflinching amidst the trials sent to try her. A true warrior. Unlike _Klarke kom Skaikru_. Clarke “Princess” Griffin.

“That's what this is about?” Clarke found herself asking of a sudden. “You think I'm afraid?”

“I know you are,” Lexa replied abruptly, showing little emotion over the point.

“Of what?” Clarke pressed, somehow managing to temper the rage she felt at the offence. “Not surviving? _Losing people--?!_ ”

“Of failure,” interrupted Lexa. “You doubt yourself and your abilities. You don't want to accept that you were born to lead your people because you are scared that one wrong decision will cost you the lives of the ones you love. _That's_ why you are so desperate to take their place in Mount Weather, Clarke. Not because of compassion. Or even guilt. It's fear and fear alone.”

“I'm not afraid!” protested Clarke, no longer capable of controlling her anger.

“Yes, you are!” Lexa snapped, shutting down any further argument. “You reek of fear!” She watched the commander drop her hands and fold them behind her back, showing no defensiveness at all as she turned face-on to Clarke, eclipsing her in her body's shadow. “You reek of fear,” she repeated, staring down at her, “but you're _not_ a coward. You _must_ learn, Clarke, as I once did: there is no place for sorrow or grief when life is on the line. There is no time to hesitate, no time to question yourself; this is especially true when you are a leader of your people. You bear the burden of the many, so that they don't have to. Fear...fear is what gets people killed.”

She felt like a bug; like some tiny, insignificant insect that had been unceremoniously shoved under a microscope and ripped apart. Had she not felt so emotional, she might have marvelled at the sheer audacity Lexa had to reach right inside of her unbidden and to root around for the truth. Was Clarke afraid? At times, yes; at times she had been _terrified_. But that fear paled in comparison to the overwhelming feeling haunting her of being without control of her own fate. All of her friends looked to her to keep them on course, but the fact was, they were all adrift in an uncharted sea. They all sought answers from her that she had no way of obtaining and the mounting stress of her own internal tragedy was what was actually beginning to capture Lexa's notice. Not her fucking _fear_.

Incensed by Heda's accusations, Clarke squared up to her, posturing. She was surprised herself by the grittiness and restrained anger in her voice as she shook her head and spoke. “You're wrong,” she growled, not letting the Grounder look away. “I don't have time to be afraid. All I know is that I'm carrying the fate of my people on my back and it's getting god damned heavy, Lexa. I didn't ask for any of this; I didn't want it. I don't want to be a hero, but I'm here and I'm doing the best that I fucking can.”

With that, Clarke stepped back, looking the commander up and down, feeling justified in the points she had made yet not feeling entirely confident about them either. This exchange between them had undoubtedly ruffled feathers and forced her to confront the ghosts of malcontent still dwelling underneath the surface. That harrowing sense of emptiness still pulsed within her as she she pulled away from Lexa, determined not to give her any more reason to doubt Skaikru's leadership.

She heard the faint call of her name in the background as she trudged towards the water, but the noise inside her head almost completely drowned it out. Why did Heda choose to confront her about this now, with so much at stake? To Clarke's credit, she instantly realised what a foolish question that was because she already knew the answer. Lexa's tough love was the the Heda's way of helping – of reaching out to her but as more than just a commander. She too had had to wrestle with her own demons of guilt and loss. That lecture was one Lexa herself had likely suffered through; one that was borrowed from a wiser predecessor who bore witness to the same pain in her years ago.

Clarke came to an abrupt stop by the water's edge and tilted her head skyward, sighing gently against the studded black above. Her brows furrowed at the strangeness that confronted her – the unfamiliar patterns of the stabs of light overhead. There was a time on the Ark when the stars had offered so much comfort to her; held her with a gentleness no man or woman knew how. After her father's death, she had shut herself off emotionally from anyone and everyone but that celestial light; the one she believed to harbour some mystical understanding of her own personal pain. Moments shared between them made things okay again; made her whole. Not like now, with her desperate gazes going unanswered from above. Staring up at the sky with her muddy boots firmly planted in the wet ground – she felt empty. Alone.

“Everything looks so different from down here,” she finally said, her voice dulled by her sombre mood. “So... _alien_.” Alien? The taste of the word seemed wrong as soon as it left her lips, but how better could she convey this feeling of unbelonging that she had been carrying with her since their first day touching down? The Grounders called her and her kind _Invaders_ because of the careless way they had made introductions but in truth, the Arkadians were as alien to the Earth as any non-native could be. The same, but apart: like some inconsequential evolutionary dead-end. A soon-to-be extinct flourish of nature's impassivity. The thought pained her more than she could understand, though her eyes welled in rapid response anyway. Against her better judgement, she spoke, annoyed at the cracks in her voice that highlighted her fragility. “I don't know why but I...I always thought that if I ever set foot on the Earth, I'd feel... _connected_. Like I belonged. But instead, I feel...”

This was not the impression of herself she wanted to give to the Heda; not how she wanted to represent Skaikru: all watery eyes and shaken voice. Her people had strength, she knew it – they had proven it; they had suffered, through blood and sacrifice. And here she was; emotional for reasons she could not voice; upset for reasons she couldn't grasp. Clarke was ill-equipped to lead her people – unprepared and inexperienced. And yet, for some reason, the feeling of those patient, smoky eyes trained upon her somehow spurred a resilience in her spirit. She allowed herself a shaky sigh to steady her nerves before trying again. “I feel...”

Though her confidence had returned, her voice still faltered, blocked by some emotional barrier she had raised long ago. In the stillness of the clearing, the words hung in the air, breathing life into a perception only one of them could realise.

“...lost.”

The proximity of Lexa's voice directly behind her did not register at first as Clarke's mind processed the meaning of the word. Lost...lost in the unknown; lost within herself, amongst her people. Yes. _Lost_ described her predicament perfectly. Were she not so painfully miserable in the moment, she might have thanked Lexa for that keen insight that chimed with truth. Instead, all she could do was allow a hasty whisper to escape her lips in response: “Yes.”

She inhaled deeply, struggling to compose herself as she locked eyes with the timid starlight above. Dwelling on her situation, on everything that had happened was not helping. Giving voice to it made it worse, made it real. “I don't recognise any of it,” she admitted, deflated. Then, with a scoff, “I don't even know which way north is. Some leader I'm shaping up to be.”

She was vaguely aware of Lexa's shoulder brushing against her own as she watched the skies alongside her; silent, strong and jaw held at a proud angle. Clarke could have sworn she noticed an almost imperceptible shiver rack the commander's body as they touched, but decided better than to indulge the thought.

“It's that way,” Lexa said softly, stretching an arm across Clarke's body and pointing across the pool of water. Clarke glanced in the direction before turning her head to regard Lexa, acutely aware of the closeness of her face to the Heda's in this new position. In that moment, their eyes met and stayed locked for several deafening heartbeats, soaking in the shadows and detail of each other's expression. There was more than mere curiosity masked by that malachite stare; something more insistent, _demanding_. Clarke could not discern it exactly, but she felt herself unable to resist the pull of the darkness emanating from Lexa's gaze. The spell was broken only by the way Lexa's eyes flickered to Clarke's parted lips and back again, which snapped her back to reality, forcing her to release a breath she had not realised she was holding in.

“How do you know?” was all she could think to ask, returning her attention to the direction Heda had pointed in. After a beat of hesitation, she heard the crunch of the complaining gravel as her companion shifted her weight to another leg and turned sideways on, surprise meeting her along with the warmth of Lexa's torso pressed closely against hers. A hand whispered down her arm, capturing her own in a gentle grip. Clarke reminded herself to keep breathing, allowing that strong hold on her arm to lift it skyward with nimble fingers making her point with her own.

“Do you see that shape there in the stars? We call it _Digga_. The Plough.” Lexa's voice was low and softer than usual as she spoke against Clarke's ear. The light, feathery sensation of her breath made her skin tickle, but that was hardly what was ensnaring her attention at that moment. She watched Lexa use their hands to trace the shape in the sky: sliding down the curved handle and circling the trapezium-shaped body. Mesmerised by the novelty of this encounter, Clarke almost forgot that the commander was awaiting an answer. She opened her mouth but could not speak; the words, they were somewhere, trapped in the back of her mind, lodged in her throat... _somewhere_ , but not where they needed to be. Clarke closed her mouth again, thankful to still have control over her motor functions at least and then nodded her head in reply.

She could have sworn she _felt_ Lexa smiling as she raised their arms just a little higher to level them at a brilliant point of light in the sky, burning brighter than any of its nearby neighbours. “Polaris,” Lexa clarified. “The north star. You will know of it?” Clarke narrowed her eyes at first, locating the pulsing star just north of the constellation; her face relaxed as the memory of its view from the space station returned to her – a recollection that she was surprised to find comforted her. In a sudden wave of recognition, the skies no longer seemed so foreign to her; no longer held the same contempt for her _otherness_ on the ground. Relief followed shortly after that and then genuine gratitude for the one who had steadied her in her moment of frailty. That display of compassion from the Grounder commander was unexpected to say the least – _special_ – and for the first time in days the Skaikru leader felt the tug of a smile stretch across her lips.

Clarke wasn't quite sure why her elation so quickly disappeared as Lexa finally lowered their arms and released her hold on her. _Over her?_ It was true, she had no desire for any sort of intimacy so soon after Finn's death; indeed, how could she even begin to contemplate a relationship with so much else at stake? And yet, contemplate she did, watching Lexa reposition herself by her side, stacking her hands upon the hilt of her sheathed sword and looking ahead again, unreadable. Her body mourned the absence of the warrior's warmth and closeness; that spark of human connection jolting her senses awake but...was it wrong for her to crave such things for herself? Especially at a time like this...

“We are none of us ever truly lost, Clarke,” spoke Lexa sagely, looking thoughtfully into the distance. “Only ever searching.”

Clarke found herself frowning at the sentiment but not because she didn't agree with it; it was more that niggling feeling eating away at her that Lexa empathised with her more than she let on, more than she ever wanted to. Those words meant to soothe her but instead she found her mind questioning whether her companion really believed in its value. It was hard to take advice from this posture-perfect, stoic commander who had already admitted to shutting off her feelings for anyone and everyone. _That_ was something Clarke could never do; something she believed handicapped Lexa's ability to instruct her on her own emotion-handling. For some reason her pretence of heartlessness bothered her more than she thought it should, but was there really any point in letting Lexa know? She could reason that the commander had a role to fulfil in public and that letting her guard down would be a dangerous move. But now that they were alone with only each other's company, Clarke didn't want to be speaking through walls to Lexa. What she wanted was a sincere moment of honesty, untouched by Heda's unwavering sense of duty.

“So, what?” Clarke finally asked, rounding on Lexa. “You just...shut out your emotions, pretend they're not there? You never feel overwhelmed? Lonely?”

It took her saying it out loud to notice the sadness in her voice that had seeped in uninvited. Clarke knew by now that it was too late; Lexa had seen the regret in her eyes, had captured a brief glimpse of her desire for a more intimate connection with her – and as a person, not a commander. The discovery marked a shift in her perspective and she was suddenly anxious as to how Lexa might react. Those wide, green eyes fixed her with a penetrating stare, making her feel exposed despite the warmth that showed in them. Feeling her heart thud against her ribcage, she felt her eyes drawn to those full, soft lips, impatiently waiting for an answer or some kind of response that might settle the fluttering she felt in her stomach.

“Nou otaim,” Lexa said quietly, holding Clarke's attention with a meaningful look. Her jaw moved as if to add to the cryptic reply, but instead, she merely nodded her head slightly, signalling that she had nothing else to offer. At least not now. Clarke watched with confusion as the commander backed away and turned, beginning to retrace her steps back into the trees.

“Let's go, Clarke,” she called over her shoulder as the distance between them began to stretch. “We're ready to move forward.”

**Author's Note:**

> A/N
> 
> Fun fact: I had just finished writing the "Polaris scene" when I settled down to watch the latest episode (306). Imagine my squeees! Try convincing me I'm not clairvoyant now. Go on, just try.
> 
> Trigedasleng translations:
> 
> Hod op = Wait.
> 
> Kamp raun hir kom emo gapa en ste ai op = Stay here with the horses and keep a look out.
> 
> Sha, Heda = Yes, commander.
> 
> Nou otaim = Not all the time.


End file.
